


Stairway to Heaven

by sweetsmutslut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23461777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsmutslut/pseuds/sweetsmutslut
Summary: Hermione is trying to get to the library. But the stairs have other ideas. Every time she climbs the stairs to the library, the stairs change direction taking her to a different part of the castle. Taking her to him. After a series of charged, ‘chance’ encounters with one Draco Malfoy, they finally meet at the Room of Requirement. The Room only appears to those that need it. The Room provides you with what you need. The Room presents Draco and Hermione with…a bed.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. A Brief Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first ever (published) fanfic! I needed a creative outlet during *self-isolation* and this has been so fun to write so far! Hope y'all enjoy!!

Hermione is trying to get to the library.   
Despite being up late with Harry and Ron guessing who this mysterious ‘Half Blood Prince’ could be, and another night of fitful sleep, she had risen early with the sound of birds chirping outside her window. She wanted to be the first in the library. She liked the library best either early in the morning or late at night, when it was quiet and still, so she could let her brain whirr without distraction. She had a potions essay due soon and it needed a few finishing touches. Not to mention the transfiguration project that she wanted to get a head start on (she still needed to actually figure out how to turn a raven into a writing desk).   
As she climbed the set of stairs leading to the library, lost in thought about the mechanics of bird to table transfiguration, she barely noticed that the stairs began to move away from the library towards a dark corridor. One that she had never been down before. She looked up as the staircase stopped moving, locking defiantly into place before the dingy corridor.   
How rude, thought Hermione. The staircase knew very well that she was trying to get to the library. They had deliberately redirected her, probably as a mischievous trick to frustrate her. The stairs at Hogwarts were notoriously badly behaved. They got bored of their position very easily and loved to get the students lost, making them late for class, sending them on wild goose chases around the castle.   
Hermione needed to get her work done. Oh well, she’d just have to find her way back to the library. She did love to wander the castle, discovering new corridors and rooms. This was just a minor set back to her morning schedule.   
And besides, something seemed to be calling to her, deep in the shadows. She could hear faint but frantic whispers, ushering her forward. As she strode confidently up the stairs and down the gloomy corridor, she felt a definitive pull in her chest, guiding her onwards. It seemed to Hermione that the castle really wanted her to go this way. She wandered what she would stumble across in these twisting halls.   
She glanced at the paintings lining the corridor walls as she walked. A painting of a mother holding a sobbing child, who looked Hermione directly in the eye and told her to mind her own business. An unnerving oil painting of a little girl praying over her breakfast, watched over by a Jack Russel and a kitten entitled ‘Suspense.’   
Finally, towards the end of the corridor, one painting in particular caught her eye. It showed a pair of lovers embracing in a storm. The woman had her back to Hermione and clung to her suitor, her wild brown curls blew in an imagined breeze. The man had white blonde hair, and as he looked over his lovers head, directly at Hermione his eyes were a steely and piercing grey. She stepped closer to the painting, drawn in by the man’s entrancing eyes. The man in the painting winked at Hermione. At that exact same moment, she heard someone close behind her clear their throat, announcing their previously unnoticed presence. She jumped and spun around, gasping in surprise. Before her, stood Draco Malfoy. She could still feel the painted man’s gaze on her back, boring into her. In front of her, Malfoy’s grey, penetrating eyes towered above her. As she peered closer his eyes seemed uncannily similar to the eyes of the man in the painting. Malfoy looked down at her in inquisitive disdain.   
“Granger,” Malfoy drawled. “Strange place for a morning stroll. What are you doing in this part of the castle?”   
“Malfoy. You startled me. And, not that it’s any of your business, the staircase changed when I was on my way to the library. It took me here.” Hermione replied in a clipped tone. The last thing she needed this morning was a verbal sparring match with Draco Malfoy. She had work to do.   
“Hmm…The same thing happened to me last week, that’s how I found this corridor.” Draco responded with a disinterested tone.   
“What are you doing here now? Just some standard Slytherin skulking?” Hermione was intrigued, why would he return to such a dismal corridor?  
“Mind your own business Granger, off you pop to your books and the dim witted twins. I’m busy” Draco replied curtly, spinning on his heel and disappearing behind a dark, velvet curtain Hermione hadn’t noticed until this moment.   
“Where are you going?” Hermione trailed off as she followed him behind the curtain, her eyes squinting in the sudden brightness of the hidden room.   
The room was about as big as a broom cupboard, cramped but contained a large window that made the room feel airy and filled it with the bright morning light. Beneath the window was a cushioned window seat upon which Malfoy now perched, reading a book, purposely not looking at Hermione.   
Hermione wandered slowly towards the window, looking out at the beautiful view of the school grounds, the lake, the quidditch pitch. What a wonderful spot to sit and read. She only wished she had discovered it before Malfoy. Looking down the blonde boy reading, Hermione was struck by how small and gentle he appeared in the glowing morning light. A moment of madness swept over her as she dropped herself down next to him on the window seat. “Mind if I join you?” she said tentatively.   
Draco leapt up away from her as if she was contagious. “Yes. Get out.” Draco drew himself up to his full height and towered over her with his arms folded.   
“Oh. Right.” Hermione, embarrassed and confused by her own actions, quickly moved to leave the small room. Just before she reached the curtain, Malfoy spoke. “What would make you think I’d want to sit with you?”   
Hermione turned slowly to face Malfoy, blushing at her stupidity. Her naivety. The morning light, her disorientation, and her weariness had made her forget who she was talking to for a fateful split second. But she may as well be honest with him.  
“I just thought you might like some company. I know I wouldn’t mind some.” It was true. She loved her friends but sometimes she felt inexplicably and achingly lonely. And Malfoy seemed isolated this year, whenever she’d seen him around the castle he was always alone.   
Malfoy prowled up to her, backing her against the wall by the curtain. He leaned down and glared into her eyes. “If I wanted company I certainly wouldn’t want it from you.”   
Hermione looked at Malfoy’s face, now just inches from her own. He was so pale that the bags under his eyes looked like bruises. His face was more chiselled that it had been previously. He seemed to have lost weight. And though his eyes still possessed the power to freeze her in place, they seemed flat, dull, they had lost their spark. He did not look well. The wave of madness - or maybe it was tenderness - that swept over her before resurged now as she whispered “Malfoy. Are you okay?”   
“I’m fine Granger. Now leave. Me. Alone.” Draco replied through gritted teeth.   
But he didn’t move. He stayed right in front of her, their faces close. They stood staring each other down. Her searching his face questioningly, trying to discern what was going on with him. Him staring her down defiantly, but definitely softening with each passing second. Eventually his gaze softened entirely, his tense body seemed to slump as if all of the fight had gone out of him. He looked so tired. His forehead dropped against hers and he leaned into her for a few seconds. Hermione froze at the sudden warmth of his body against hers. There was a crackle in the air between them. Hermione took a breath preparing to say something. Anything. But that small breath shattered the moment and brought Malfoy back to himself. He stumbled backwards away from her, a blush staining his pale skin. Hermione fled the small room, confused and tingling from their encounter.   
Both of them left thinking: What on earth was that?


	2. Honesty, Healing and Hot Chocolate.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco can't sleep. They accidentally meet in the kitchen in the middle of the night, sharing hot chocolate and secrets.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this delicious, steaming hot cup of angst! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter! I'm going to try and upload a new chapter every few days so keep your eyes peeled for you daily dose of Dramione!!  
> Also shoutout to my BFF Jamie, jay-jay-weasley on Tumblr for being the best beta and pal a gal could ask for and for introducing me to Dramione many years ago! And thanks to my angel CapturetheFinnick for editing this chapter for me, you may not love Dramione, but I sure do love you!

Hermione couldn’t sleep. She’d awoken in a cold sweat from a horrible nightmare in which Harry and Ron, sailing on a choppy sea in a tiny lifeboat, were swallowed up by a raging storm. She had desperately tried to paddle towards them. But she’d been too late. She was always too late to save them in her nightmares.  
With each passing year they spent at Hogwarts, the creeping fear within her mounted. Slowly but surely the fear hollowed out her chest, until she felt almost entirely empty. Something bad was coming this year. Something worse than ever before. She could feel it.  
But she would be ready. She had to be ready. She had to protect Harry and Ron. They were her best friends, her everything. She’d never forgive herself if she let them down.  
She’d been tossing and turning all night, trying to get back to sleep. But it was no use. She would be awake for the rest of the night. She thought that may as well get up and fetch a hot chocolate from the kitchens to calm her nerves. Then she’d head to the library. Get a super early start on the days reading.  
Hermione rolled out of bed, threw on her dressing gown and, slipping her wand into her pocked, tip-toed out of her dormitory. She padded out of the Gryffindor common room, her bare feet against the cold stone floor, through the winding corridors. Down the stairs, into the bowels of the castle. She reached the kitchen, pushing open the heavy wooden doors.  
The kitchen during the day was a bustling scene of house elves dashing about, preparing the students’ meals. But at night, with the house elves tucked up asleep elsewhere in the castle, the kitchen was eerily quiet, yet somewhat peaceful in the semi-dark. It helped Hermione to breathe a little easier and think clearly as she magically prepared her hot chocolate, not bothering to light any candles. She was content to sit in the dark, alone with her thoughts for a while.  
The tight ball of anxiety that been lodged inside her chest since her nightmare finally began to loosen. Hermione breathed a sigh of contentment as she held her steaming cup between her palms.  
Slowly, she became aware of a presence behind her. Her fight or flight instincts kicked in and she dropped her hot chocolate, the mug shattering on the stone floor. She whipped her wand from her dressing gown pocket in a fluid motion and pointed it at the intruder behind her.  
Draco Malfoy stood nonchalantly gazing down his nose at the wand aimed at his chest. “Skittish Granger? To be honest you were slow on the uptake. If I was an assailant you’d be long dead by now. And you’ve spilt your drink all over my good slippers.” Malfoy spoke slowly, with a smug smile playing across his lips. Hermione slumped, her adrenaline ebbing away.  
She backed away from him, accidentally standing on the sharp shards of her smashed mug. The fragments cut and lodged themselves into her feet and Hermione let out a wounded yelp, falling onto her backside.  
Malfoy, taken aback by Hermione’s sudden tumble stared down at her collapsed form, bemused for a few seconds, before crouching down beside her. Hermione was trying to hold back tears as she clutched her foot, inspecting the damage. A large, yet delicate, pale hand gently grasped her foot. She glanced up at Malfoy’s face.  
His features were consumed with concentration. He silently pointed his wand at the wounds, and uttered a spell to extract the shards. Hermione, shocked and embarrassed by her fall, stared puzzled at Malfoy’s diligent and calm treatment of her injuries. Once all the shards were removed from her foot, Malfoy began casting healing charms to close up the cuts. This done, he swiftly let go of Hermione’s foot.  
Malfoy looked into her face for the first time since she fell.  
Her face was soft and open. Her chocolate eyes were all melty and gooey, mouth was slightly agape from surprise and confusion. Malfoy, realising that he had been uncharacteristically compassionate towards his supposed enemy, simply raised an eyebrow at Hermione, as if to say, ‘What are you looking at?’ And just like that, the gentle boy that had tended to her injured feet was gone, and the cold, indifferent creature that he embodied so easily returned to him. His mask slid safely back into place.  
Malfoy hastily stood up, leaving Hermione still sprawled on the ground. “Try not to be so clumsy Granger. You muggleborns have no sense of balance. And you’re so fragile. It’s shameful really. By the time I was two years old I could ride a broom and you can’t even walk without breaking something.” Malfoy rambled, frantically trying to erase her memory of his tenderness. He spoke unfeelingly but it didn’t have the sting of his usual insults.  
It seemed that they had wordlessly agreed to not speak about him healing her injuries.  
Sure, thought Hermione, I’ll play his game. For now.  
“What are you doing down here in the middle of the night Malfoy? Midnight stroll, doing your dark bidding…in the kitchen. How spooky!” Hermione breezed past his insult, teasing him, hoping that it would help to dispel some of the tension that lingered in the air.  
“Mind your own business Granger. I live in this castle and I’m entitled to go wherever I want at whatever time I so please. Besides, I could ask you the same question.” He snapped in his classic Malfoy fashion.  
Hermione didn’t see the point in lying as they stood in the dark, in a puddle of hot chocolate and her own blood. It was a bizarre night already.  
“I couldn’t sleep so I came down for a hot chocolate. I’ll have to make another one now. Would you like one?” Not expecting him to say yes, Hermione cleaned up the mess on the floor with a flick of her wand and fetched a new mug for her second beverage of the night.  
“I’d rather drink boiling hot piss than anything you give me Granger. It may well be poisoned for all I know” Malfoy scoffed.  
“If I wanted to poison you Malfoy, you’d be long dead by now.” Hermione said wryly with a smile, echoing his words from before. Malfoy snorted in reply, folding his arms and watching her prepare two hot chocolates, despite his protest.  
She turned around and presented him with the steaming mug, nearly expecting him to throw it back in her face. But instead, he stared at it for a few long seconds before taking it from her outstretched hand, their fingers briefly brushing in the exchange.  
He looked down into the streaming liquid, finding the warmth between his hands comforting. And with the smell of hot chocolate filling his nostrils, he began to relax, ever so slightly, for the first time in months…maybe even years.  
He didn’t know why but Granger’s presence made him feel…safe.  
Earlier, when he had woken from a nightmare in which his father, who, shedding his skin like a snake, turned out to be Voldemort, had forced Draco to kill his own mother, he’d felt a strange pulling sensation in his chest. Once he had recovered from the paralysing fear and convulsions that followed every nightmare, he also heard faint feminine whispers in his ear telling him to get out of bed. Having decided that he wasn’t going to even attempt going back to sleep, and having nothing better to do, he’d set out, following the feeling in his chest and the whispers that led him to…the kitchen, of all places. Upon arriving, he had found the door already ajar. Then creeping silently into the dim kitchen he’d seen Granger with her back to him. He’d thought nothing would cheer him up more than giving her a fright followed by a spirited battle of wits. He’d never let her know it, but he enjoyed sparring with Granger. She was just about the only one in the school that could keep up with him academically as well as intellectually.  
But then she’d hurt herself. That wasn’t part of his plan. He’d felt a disconcerting amount of panic when he saw her crumpled on the ground, bleeding. He hadn’t thought. He’d just acted. He had wanted to help. To heal her. To take her pain away. When he’d finished healing her, the way she was looking at him unnerved him further. Granger shouldn’t be looking at him like that. All mushy and grateful. She should be shouting at him about something. So he’d withdrawn, trying to provoke her instead. Much safer, more familiar territory.  
But, instead she’d made him a comforting hot beverage. Her stubborn brand of kindness was burrowing under his skin. And though he’d deny it to anyone else, especially Hermione, perhaps he liked it.  
Hermione hopped up onto the kitchen counter, sitting cross legged, clutching her hot chocolate as if it could make her forget that she and her friends - the entire world - was in danger from the forces of darkness, from…Voldemort.  
“You never answered my question Malfoy. What are you doing down here in the middle of the night?” Hermione asked gently but determined to get answers.  
Draco thought about avoiding the question. He could insult her, or her dim-witted friends. He could ignore her all together, pretend she hadn’t even spoken. That tactic in particular always seemed to rile her up good and proper. But something about this night made him want to say something that was true. Nowadays it seemed he was always lying. Lying to his friends, his teacher, his parents, and even to himself. Granger put him at ease in a way that no one else seemed to. They were alone in the dark. He had a hot chocolate (not very on brand for the Slytherin Prince). Now seemed as good a time as any for honesty.  
“Same as you. I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk. I just seemed to end up here. End of story.” Draco explained as coolly as he could despite the butterflies in his stomach. Butterflies of panic and…excitement? summoned by his honesty. He meandered slowly over to the countertop on which Hermione perched and hopped up to sit next to her (not too close), his long legs and slippered feet dangling from the counter.  
Hermione was taken aback by his sudden burst of candour. But she decided to probe further, to see how long this new Malfoy, comprised of honesty, healing, and hot chocolate would last, before the conceited and cold version she knew all too well returned. “Why couldn’t you sleep?” She murmured gently.  
“None of your…” Draco broke off abruptly, catching himself about to avoid the question. In that moment, he made a promise to himself that whatever Granger asked him in this kitchen tonight he would answer honestly. Just to check that he could in fact still tell the truth. He sighed in frustration at himself, took a steeling breath, and said in a small, broken voice “Nightmares. Every night. Nightmares.”  
Hermione looked at Draco’s slouched shoulders, at the bags under his eyes and realised with a pang of recognition that he, like herself, was suffering from nightmares so badly that he wasn’t sleeping at all. Her heart cried out looking at his defeated form, hearing his fragile voice, she longed to ease his suffering somehow.  
She shuffled herself an inch closer to him on the countertop and whispered to him, “Me too. I have nightmares every night. Its driving me a bit crazy. Usually I come down here for a hot drink or I just get up, go to the library and do some reading. But, I just wish I could have a nights rest without waking up screaming.”  
Draco was surprised by this confession. What did Granger have nightmares about? And ones so bad that she couldn’t go back to sleep? That she woke up screaming? It sounded all to familiar to Draco.  
“What do you have nightmares about? Failing your potions exams?” He halfheartedly joked, trying to alleviate both of their misery somewhat.  
“I’m a muggleborn and I’m best friends with Harry Potter. I’m walking around with a bulls-eye on my forehead. I’m just waiting for something awful to happen. Every day. And it will happen eventually, all I can hope is that we are ready.” Hermione spoke these words aloud for the first time. She hadn’t told anyone about her nightmares, not even Harry or Ron. They had their own worries, especially Harry, she didn’t want to burden them with her troubles too. And besides, she was fine. Just fine, really.  
Draco couldn’t think of what to say to her. After-all, what she was saying was true. He just nodded in understanding.  
He wanted to share something too, to match her confession of vulnerability. “My father…wants me to join…him. And I…can’t….I don’t want…” Draco gave a heavy sigh of anguish. “I don’t want to be like my father.” There. He’d said it. Out loud. To someone. Finally.  
Suddenly overcome by the weight of his words, by his fears, his disgust at himself, at his father, Draco put his head in his hands and gave out a rattling sigh. What was he going to do? There was no way out for him.  
Hermione couldn’t bear to see Draco this way. Usually so proud, so regal in his self-confidence, to see him crumpled and vulnerable was distressing to say the least. She shuffled right up to him, their thighs touching. His tense body seemed to relax ever so slightly at the contact.  
She reached out cautiously to lay her hand comfortingly on his knee. But at her touch Malfoy leapt up as if she had electrocuted him. He began to move away from her, but she grabbed his wrist, pulling him back towards her. He stood between her legs as she sat on the countertop.  
He looked down; he didn’t want to see the pity on her face. He didn’t want her pity. He didn’t need it. Or her. Or anyone. He was fine. He would handle it.  
“Draco” Hermione whispered. She laid her palm softly on his cheek, and he leaned his face against it.  
Her warm palm kissed his skin and told him it would be okay. Somehow.  
With her finger she lifted his face to look at her. With her sat on the countertop this way they were eye to eye. When he reluctantly looked at her face, he didn’t see pity. He saw kindness. Tender and caring. He looked into Hermione’s sparkling eyes and felt seen. Recently, no one saw him. Not even his parents. They saw what they wanted to see. The perfect little death eater in training. Hermione saw the truth of him now. That he was scared.  
She opened her mouth to say something. But that was quite enough Granger time for one night. Draco stepped backwards, away from her.  
“Save it Granger. Try and get some more sleep. You look like crap.” With this, Draco strode out of the kitchen and disappeared. His half-finished hot chocolate abandoned steaming on the countertop.  
Hermione, watching him go, thought to herself, Well, that was…different.


	3. A Crying Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco are having a bad day. And they just so happen to end up breaking down in the very same broom cupboard. After finding comfort in each others embrace, Draco panics and tries to push Hermione away. This leads to a fiery and passionate argument. But, Hermione and Draco's paths are now entwined. They will find their way back to one another, sooner or later. 
> 
> Angst and fluff coming at ya in this one!   
> Thank you everyone for reading! It means the world to me!!

Hermione was trying to get to the library. She was also crying.   
This made her journey a little more difficult than usual, as she couldn’t see very well. Due to the tears.  
Hermione felt like she should be embarrassed by her public display of emotion as she sped through the echoing halls. But frankly she didn’t give a damn. Passing students glanced sympathetically - or it could have been judgmentally - in her direction as she hurried past. Again, it was hard to tell through her tears.   
If she could just get to the library, everything would be okay. She would be safe. She could be alone. She could break down in peace. She just had to keep going.   
Today had been rough to say the least. After another restless nights sleep, her sleep deprived had brain lost track of time and she was late to her first class of the day.  
It was so deeply out of character for her to be late that Professor McGonagall had asked after the class “Are you okay dear? You look quite tired if you don’t mind me saying. Don’t worry about being late, you should get some rest. Give yourself a break.” Hermione was mortified that McGonagall had suggested that she wasn’t coping well. That it was so obvious to seemingly everyone that she was struggling.   
The rest of the day was all down hill from there. Professor Snape was especially harsh today. He had ignored her raised hand all class, denying her the opportunity to answer even though no one else knew the correct answer. When she had burst out with the right answer to the question ‘What do you get if you magically cross a fly, a car, and a dog?’ towards the end of the lesson (it was obviously a flying carpet!), he had whirled round and venomously told her to “Keep her know-it-all muggle mouth shut.” At this, Hermione had turned a particularly distressing shade of beetroot.   
In each class something had gone horrendously wrong. Despite her constant reading her grades were dipping, she would make silly mistakes. She would zone out for what felt like only a second, but the whole class had passed without her knowing. She had accidentally set Seamus alight with a spell gone rogue in Professor Flitwick’s class. And to top it all off she had fallen over on her way back to her desk from the front of the class in Ancient Runes (everyone had laughed, even Ron – what a traitor).  
It was all too much. As she exited her final class, she’d fled from Harry and Ron, wanting nothing more than to cry alone for a little while.  
Ron had looked to Harry, confused at Hermione’s sudden departure “What’s her problem?”  
Harry had watched her go and nodded sagely. He’d looked to Ron and said wisely “Hormones. Best to leave her to it mate.” Ron had nodded in understanding and they’d turned towards the Gryffindor common room, unphased by Hermione’s erratic behaviour, trusting that she’d be fine later.   
Hermione had the horrible feeling as she sped away that everything around her was crumbling. And no matter how hard she tried, it would all fall down, crushing her in the process.   
The floor was going to disappear from beneath her and she would fall and fall until she hit the hard ground with a crunch.   
Nothing seemed to bring her peace or excite her anymore. Not even reading. She was hollow. Empty.  
…Actually, that wasn’t true. He made her feel things. Not only did Draco Malfoy (of all people) make her feel calm and...safe (something she hadn’t felt ever since she was attacked in the bathroom by the troll in first year).  
But he electrified her. She would bristle and tingle at his presence. And since his shocking and sudden vulnerability with her in the kitchen, she couldn’t help but hope that she would run into him again. But he seemed to make himself scarce around the castle. She would only catch glimpses of his blonde hair, always a few steps ahead of her, disappearing behind doors or round corners.   
Her heart was pounding as she broke into a run towards the library. She couldn’t tell if it was from her anxiety or from the mere thought of Draco.   
She sprinted up the stairs towards the library. Her sanctuary. She would finally be free to sob in solitude. But as she neared the top of the staircase, the stairs rebelliously began to move. No! Not now, thought Hermione. She needed her safe place so she could have her breakdown privately. Nonetheless, the stairs, uncaring in the face of Hermione’s tears, jolted to a stop in front of a small, forgotten corridor.   
Despite her distress and frustration from being diverted from her safe haven, Hermione felt the same pulling sensation in her chest as when she discovered Draco in the bright room with a view. Soothingly masculine whispers ushered her forward, promising her safety and comfort. Too upset to stop and think, Hermione raced up the stairs, running down the corridor at full pelt. Like a wounded animal, she frantically searched for somewhere to curl up and cry.   
Then like a mirage she spotted, hidden in the stone walls, a small door. It looked narrow enough that Hermione recognised it as a broom cupboard. Perfect.   
She flung open to the door to the dark broom cupboard, throwing her body into the shadows. She slammed the door shut behind her and sank to the floor.   
Her body shook with the force of her panic attack. Her lungs screamed for air as she tried desperately to catch her breath. She let out wails of distress, curling in on herself as tears streamed down her face.   
‘Well’, thought Draco Malfoy as he sat in the shadows of the very same broom cupboard that Hermione Granger had just stormed into wailing like a banshee, ‘This is awkward.’  
What were the chances that Hermione Granger (of course it would be bloody Hermione Granger) would come and cry in the same cupboard as him. Of all the cupboards in all the castle, it had to be this one.   
Draco had received a letter this morning. From his father. It was not good news.  
His father’s letter told him point blank that if Draco didn’t swear his allegiance to the Dark Lord and receive his dark mark within the month, his father would lock him in the Dungeon of Malfoy Manor. That he would no longer be a Malfoy. That he would hand him over to Voldemort for punishment himself.   
Not exactly the loving care package that most kids at the school received.   
After reading the letter Draco had calmly set down his morning pumpkin juice, stood and stalked out of the Great Hall without a word to any of his fellow Slytherins. They had learned long ago not to question his actions. To give him space. He had trained them well through intimidation. Though recently he’d began wishing that someone, anyone would follow him and ask him if he was okay.   
That’s why it was such a shock when Granger of all people had been the one to ask him if he was okay. It had broken through his carefully crafted defences and made him crumble. Even just for a second. But it was enough. She had seen how cowardly, how weak, how broken he was. She had seen it all. And she did not pity or scorn him. She looked at him with genuine kindness. It was unsettling. Alarming even. No one had ever looked at him like that.   
Out of view of the prying eyes in the Great Hall, Draco had felt the panic seize him. What was he going to do? Merlin save him, he was royally fucked. He had to get out of here.   
He’d started walking, trying to stay calm. Clinging to his cool. But that didn’t last long. He started running, sprinting. Needing somewhere to let his guard down, to breakdown. And then to think. He had to figure something out, because there was no way in hell he was going to be a death eater. But there was also no chance that he was going to disgrace his family name and die at by Voldemort’s hand.   
He ran up the stairs, not knowing where he was going. But then it turned out that he didn’t need to know. The castle decided for him. As soon as he’d set foot on the stone stairs, the staircase started moving towards a small, unassuming corridor. That worked for him. He had dashed up the stairs and down the corridor. In his haste he’d sprinted right past the broom cupboard door, having to retrace his steps slowly to find the door again.   
Once inside the small broom cupboard Draco had collapsed into a heap of hysteria. He’d wept and shuddered, spiralling further and further into his own shame and panic. He’d roared in frustration and fear.   
After his initial anxiety had subsided somewhat, he’d begun trying to think a way out of his shit show of a situation. Hours had passed. He’d spent all day in the broom cupboard alternating between sobbing and scheming.   
But he had no definitive plan to show for it. There was no way out. He either became a death eater or faced death himself. He had just resigned himself to the likelihood of his own demise when Granger burst into his crying cupboard.   
Draco watched Hermione from his gloomy corner of the cupboard until he realised that the longer he didn’t announce himself, the creepier it would seem in an already fucked up situation.   
He psyched himself up for what was going to be a bloody weird conversation, before saying as calmly and casually as he could “Granger. Fancy seeing you here.” As if it was the most natural thing in the world to be sat in a broom cupboard. As if he owned this broom cupboard. As if she had popped in for a cup of tea and a biscuit, instead of in the middle of a full-blown mental breakdown.   
Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs. Draco’s sudden appearances made her jump at the best of times, but in her vulnerable and anxiety riddled state, it was enough to push her over the edge.  
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” Hermione shouted in a strangled voice. She didn’t even wait for a reply, she just dropped her head back into her hands and went back to sobbing. She didn’t care if he was here, she had other things to worry about.   
Draco blinked at her outburst. Then, taking a deep breath, he scooted out of his corner to sit next to her, waiting in silence as she wept. Heavy minutes ticked by. But hearing her little sniffles and sobs eventually became too much for him to bear.   
The same impulse that had prompted him to heal her feet that night in the kitchen came over him once more. He acted without a second thought. He bundled her up in his arms, cradling her shaking body against his chest.   
Hermione, had she been in her right mind, would probably have protested.   
But right now, she just wanted to be held. She would deal with the consequences of this decision later.  
She felt so safe in his arms.   
It felt so right. She felt that on some level, she belonged there, engulfed in his embrace.   
Draco stroked Hermione’s soft, coffee coloured curls, resting his chin on top of her head.   
A niggling voice in the back of Draco’s head told him that this was wrong. That he shouldn’t be touching a disgusting muggleborn, let alone cradling her like a goddamn baby. But he told the voice to shut up and allowed himself to sink further into this strange turn of events.   
He held Hermione close to his chest, breathing in her comforting scent of toothpaste and floral shampoo and let out a sigh of serenity. His mind was still, his worries temporarily put to rest. He closed his eyes and a small smile tugged his lips upwards.   
Hermione melted into Draco’s body. Her sobs slowly but surely subsided with each passing moment she spent in his arms. She nestled into him, pressing her face against his warm neck, her mind finally quiet, but her heart still pounding. Surely he can feel how fast my heart is beating, Hermione thought. This idea excited her even more, that Draco would know how he made her feel.   
They sat like that, clinging to one another, breathing each other in for some time, finding comfort in their touch.   
Hermione, finally feeling calm after her extreme outpouring of emotion, found herself fascinated with Draco’s jawline. Her traitorous brain began to wonder what it would taste like. And before she could stop herself, she reached up and placed a small, tender kiss where Draco’s jaw met his neck.   
Draco, startled by the sudden feeling of Hermione’s soft lips pressed against his skin, let out a small gasp. Followed by a groan of pleasure. Hermione, encouraged by his noise of satisfaction, pressed another tentative kiss against Draco’s pulse.   
At this, Draco felt a small twitch below his hips. Too much. It was too much.  
His eyes flew open. All of a sudden, like a cold wave crashing into him, Draco’s sense returned. He heard his father’s voice ringing in his ears ‘Filthy mudblood bitch…blood traitor…you disgust me….I’ll hand you over to Voldemort myself.’  
Draco extracted Hermione from his lap and plonked her firmly onto the floor. He shot up and away from her, cowering in the shadows of the broom cupboard.   
Hermione, returning from her emotional haze, looked up at Draco with wounded, questioning eyes. She scrambled to her feet and took a step towards him. Her body already missed his warmth, his arms around her.   
“Draco, what…” Hermione began to ask, reaching out for him.   
Draco cut her off, harshly spitting “Don’t come anywhere near me you – you – filthy - mu.” But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He knew it wasn’t true. He was confused. He was scared. He didn’t know what any of this meant. Surely this was the least of his troubles, considering death loomed over his head.   
But he didn’t know what else to do. This would be for the best. They should put a stop to whatever was happening between them. Before things got out of hand. It had already gone to far.   
At his words, Hermione’s facial expression snapped from confused care to stony. He knew he had hurt her, wounded her pride, embarrassed and insulted her. Her eyes shifted from soft and shining to dull and drained.   
“Go on. Say it. Say it, you dickhead. Mudblood! Yes, I am a mudblood. So what?! It doesn’t mean anything! You realise that don’t you? You’ve been brainwashed Draco. You’re just a sheep following your racist father. Its pathetic that you’ve swallowed this propaganda bullshit. You’re better than that!” Hermione lashed out, shouting louder and louder, wounded by his cruel words. She had been vulnerable in front of him. Allowed him to hold her. She had offered herself to him. And he had thrown it back in her face.   
That hit a nerve. Draco’s sharp eyes narrowed as he strode towards her. He crowded her body against the door, looming over her. He placed his hands either side of her head, leaning his face close to hers.   
“Don’t you dare. Talk about my father. You don’t know anything about him. About me. You think we are friends? You’re wrong. I loathe you. You are nothing to me.” Draco hissed through gritted teeth.   
“Draco, this isn’t you. This is your father talking.” Hermione tried to reason with Draco, knowing that something wasn’t right. That he was acting out. She had been hurt by his use of the slur, but she knew the caring boy that had cradled her while she wept only moments ago was in there. Somewhere. She reached out a hand to try and caress his cheek. He caught her wrist in his hand and pinned it gently but firmly above her head, along with her other hand.   
“Don’t fucking touch me Granger. I swear to God…” Draco trailed off, distracted by Hermione’s hazel eyes gazing up at him. He softened momentarily at the sight of her looking so vulnerable.  
Hermione saw the crack in his façade. “Draco, please. Its okay. I’m here, you can talk to me.” Hermione whispered soothingly.   
Draco shook his head, releasing her wrists and stepping backwards. He had to see this through. He couldn’t let her break him. This had to end here.   
He gathered his courage and let hateful words spill out of his mouth, regretting each and every one. But knowing that this was better for the both of them. She didn’t need his shit. And he didn’t need anyone. He was better off alone.   
“Bugger off Granger. Stop fucking stalking me. Just leave me the fuck alone. Scuttle back to your Gryffindor morons and forget about me. You repulse me, you disgusting mudblood.” He forced himself to say the abhorrent slur. It would be the only way to drive her away.   
His words made Hermione shut down. She stared in shock at him for a few long, heavy seconds. And then Hermione exploded.  
“You’re a fucking coward Draco Malfoy. I know you don’t believe half this shit but you’re too scared to go against your daddy. You’ll end up just like him if you don’t get out now. I could help you, if you let me, but no, you think you’re better off on your own. Have it you’re way. I can’t do this if you’re going to be a racist prick. I’m not going to let you hurt me when all I want to do is help.” Hermione screamed, starting to cry again.   
Draco’s heart fractured in his chest at her words and her tears. His shame and self-hatred spiralled further than ever before. But this was what needed to happen.   
“What don’t you understand Granger? Are you stupid? Listen to what I’m saying: I don’t want you. I don’t need your help. I despise you. Now. Fuck. Off.” Draco said as venomously as he could, forcing his features to resemble disdain and disgust.   
Hermione looked at Draco, breath ragged, heart pounding, adrenaline coursing. She was suddenly exhausted by the day’s exertions, by her outburst, by the emotional whiplash of the last ten minutes. She could see that they were done here. There was nothing she could do or say to fix this. She let out a sigh of sadness for herself and for Draco.   
She turned to leave the broom cupboard, grasping the door hand. As she opened the door, she murmured “You can say it over and over Draco, but I know that you’re trying to convince yourself as much as you’re trying to convince me. Be honest with yourself. I thought you were done with lies.”   
Hermione slipped out of the broom cupboard, tears flowing freely.   
As soon as she was gone, Draco sank to his knees. Her last words rang in his head, weighing him down. They both knew the truth. That he wanted her, that she wanted him. And more than that, they needed each other.   
Placing his head in his hands, he wondered whether he had made a huge mistake. He had driven away the only person that had seen him. That made him feel safe.   
No, he told himself. This was better. He had bigger problems. He couldn’t let Granger distract him.   
But something deep inside told him that he and Granger would cross paths again, sooner or later.   
It was just a matter of when and where…


End file.
